


Summer in the City

by pavlovee



Series: New York, '2X [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: !! you read that right folks!, Adventure, Boys In Love, Central Park, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Ice Cream, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, M/M, Museums, New York City, Post-Canon, The Author Regrets Nothing, abba haters still dni, and it turned into a whole fic, general city shenanigans, honestly? most of this, i eat that shit up, listen i wanted to write the gays going to big gay ice cream, more than half of this is just, we're vibing dont worry about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26231299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pavlovee/pseuds/pavlovee
Summary: Arriving to America for the first time in over a decade, the Old Guard have a job looming over their heads, scheduled to be done in six days. With six days worth of time to kill, there's good opportunity to have fun in one of the most iconic cities in the world until it's time to get down to business.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: New York, '2X [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905187
Comments: 45
Kudos: 188





	1. Howard Beach/JFK Airport

**Author's Note:**

> Listen...Booker's here for plot reasons that come later, don't worry about it, everything's fine.

It’s been years since any of them have been to the States, with the exception of Nile for obvious reasons. However, Nile has never been to New York City, and she continues to rubberneck as Andy hustles them through a terminal at JFK Airport. Booker keeps an easy pace with Andy as they make their way to the baggage claim, mumbling something to himself about it being a miracle they got through customs so easily. Nicky walks in the middle of the pack, his headphones still on and his hood up, dragging a set of carry-ons behind him with three backpacks slung over his body–he simply took one from Andy, one is his, and the other is technically Joe’s, but some of Nicky’s things are in it, so he’s decided he might as well carry it too. They are all lightweight, in fact he can carry more, but it would probably be rather uncomfortable given how he would have to stack the extras.

Joe is bringing up the rear with Nile at his side, hands in his pockets as he makes idle chatter with her. Asking what she’s most excited for, what she wants to see most, the stereotypical questions for traveling to a new place. While yes, they’ve got a job to do, that won’t stop Joe from ensuring that she has a good time in the city while they are still here. In fact, he has been planning it since Copley first told them they had a job State-side a month ago.

They wait for at least ten minutes for their bags once they reach baggage claim. Nile is playing a game on her phone, Andy and Booker making idle chatter against a wall. Nicky lets the backpacks rest on the carry-ons, though Joe has already taken his bag back and is digging through it for a water bottle. The headphones have finally come off, though they still quietly play music while Nicky fumbles to turn off his music.

The group stays silent, even when Booker goes and pulls their bags from the rotator. Andy notably opens her case briefly, just to look inside and ensure everything’s there. It must be, because she closes it again and exhales slowly. 

“Damned Americans,” she mumbles under her breath. Nile doesn’t react, nor seem to care. 

Joe shoulders Nicky’s bag last before they start moving again. The headphones stay around Nicky’s neck this time while Booker and Andy lead them down past ground transport and into the AirTrain. It’s expensive as hell, and they all have to get MetroCards (Andy’s expired in 2009, but the shocking part is that she has been to America in the past several decades), but the air conditioning inside makes it worth it. Nicky’s big mistake may have been a black hoodie in June, but he doesn’t grow to regret his choice until he is standing at the Howard Beach station, and he realizes just how _humid_ it is out here. 

_Climate change is a hoax, my ass,_ he thinks to himself, slipping his sunglasses on and taking the piece of gum that Nile offers him. Popping it in his mouth, his eyes are busy scanning the rest of the platform and the various people on it. He recognizes some people from their flight, staring at their phones and ignoring the rest of the world. Once he can determine that there is not anyone suspicious around them, Nicky rests his head on Joe’s shoulder, exhaling softly and shutting his eyes. After all these years, he still has yet to completely master sleeping on planes for more than an hour at a time.

The train rolls in after several minutes, though Nicky is not completely sure he was awake for the entire time they were waiting. Nile enters the car first, the rest of the group squeezing in shortly after. They take the back of the car, squeezed in with the luggage and none of them looking too thrilled about the hour-plus ride ahead of them, with transfers. Once they begin moving, the sounds the train makes are surprisingly calming to Nicky, and he rests his head on Joe’s shoulder once more and shuts his eyes for a bit.

When Joe is mumbling softly to him, taking Nicky’s hands, he realizes that he _definitely_ fell asleep that time. 

“We’re transferring,” Joe muses. “Next stop.” 

Nicky sits up, stretching and looking around the car. It is infinitely more full now, to the extent that some people are even standing. “Thank you, _habibi_ ,” Nicky replies in the same soft tone. Glancing across the way, he can see Andy reading a book with Nile attempting to read over her shoulder, though also holding a notebook and a pencil. Booker is standing and leaning against the door, and from what Nicky can quickly gather, it seems as though the place he _was_ sitting is now inhabited by an older woman. 

The transfer of trains does not take long, though the entire time they’re standing on the platform, Nicky is simultaneously sweating and yawning. He pushes his sleeves up at one point, not feeling up for taking the whole hoodie off just yet. The second train ride is unbelievably short, and before he knows it, they are outside once more, walking. Booker is leading the way–the place they have to stay at is technically his–and though Nicky has been here before, on numerous occasions, he can’t completely remember it. Outside, it’s less humid, but Nicky is still designating himself as one of the first to take a shower. He swears he can hear Booker mumble something about Italians, but he is definitely lucky Nicky didn’t hear it, or else face French jokes for the rest of the trip (he’s been waiting for an excuse to say make another “taking French leave” joke but has not quite found the proper time yet). 

Piling into an elevator with their luggage is an unfortunate circumstance, but it goes straight up to Booker’s floor, and he’s used a key to unlock the access to the apartment. They step out into a surprisingly clean flat, Nicky takes a moment to regather his bearings from what little he remembers before he goes back to the room he remembers inhabiting with Joe. His main goal is to just dump his shit in the room, give Andy back her backpack, and head _straight_ for the shower. Slipping away is not much of a problem, and, in fact, he leaves Andy’s backpack outside of the second bedroom door on his way to the bathroom. He successfully remembers a change of clothes when he slips into the bathroom, as well as a toothbrush, but he is definitely most thankful for the blast of cold air that greets him. 

The window’s blinds are open, something Nicky shuts almost immediately. While it’s darker now, he doesn’t mind as he strips down and slips into the shower. Thank God it’s cold water that hits him first. The first minute or two in the shower is spent cooling down, letting the water run down his neck and back while he shuts his eyes and relishes the familiar feeling. Fuck, had he known it would be like Italy, he definitely wouldn’t have worn the black hoodie, but what’s done is done. 

It doesn’t take him long to clean up. Before twenty minutes have passed, Nicky is turning off the water and ruffling his hair, though he’s internally cursing at the notion that he’s forgotten a towel. _Oh well, air drying might not take too long at this rate._ He steps out of the shower anyways, in hopes of avoiding slipping and cracking his head open, but he is surprised to find a towel left in front of the door. Grinning for a moment, shaking his head, he takes it and wraps up in it. His next move is brushing his teeth in an attempt to get the taste of airport out of his mouth. While he’s working, he opens the blinds a small bit and looks out again, finding that he’s smiling for a brief moment at the brownstones in front of him. The green of the trees with the brick is nice, it still reminds him of times they had come to the city decades ago. Some things never change. 

He rinses his mouth out with water, flicking his hair back when he looks back into the mirror. It’s getting long–really long. He would cut it if he were in the mood, though his excuse to Andy is just that he hasn’t had the time for it. In reality, he digs the old school look, so long as it stays out of his face when they work. It goes to his shoulders, and even though it’s still damp, he puts his clothes on and takes the towel out with him. 

He stops when he sees everyone staring at him, even Booker who said he would be taking a shower too–and Nicky _knows_ there are two bathrooms in this place. Admittedly, he does feel better, even if he still wants to go sleep for another ten hours. He’ll keep himself from crashing for now, seeing as it _is_ the middle of the day in this time zone. 

“What?” he asks, suddenly not thrilled with the fact he has to walk through a hallway to get back to their room. “Is…I said I was showering, yes?”

Andy shakes her head, chuckling though she crosses her arms. Nile is sitting on the floor, stripped down to a tank top and shorts, while Booker looks like he’s trying (and failing) to imitate Andy. When Nicky glances to Joe, he finds him just sitting with an amused expression. 

Nicky looks concerned now, and instead of asking more questions, decides it’s better to slowly back away and into the bedroom. He clicks the door shut, folding the towel to set in a corner when it hits him. Though he can hear laughing from outside, which may have given it away, he pokes his head out the door.

“This is about me being a princess, isn’t it?” 

Nile looks away, but is still clearly grinning and snickering while the remaining three have attempted to pull varying serious expressions and shake their heads. Nicky rolls his eyes and manages a chuckle as well, but retreats back into the room once more. It takes a lot of willpower to not simply collapse on the bed right that second, but instead he puts himself to unpacking his bag (about half of it, realistically) with another ruffle for his damp hair. Unpacking his bag entirely is not something that he usually finds himself doing, and this time is certainly no different. He hangs what needs to get hung and shoves the rest of the bag out of the way. By the time he’s done, sleep keeps sounding more and more appealing, though it’s still too early in the day for him to justify it. 

When Joe comes in, Nicky has succumbed to lying on the bed, but he’s trying to focus on a book instead of sleep. At least, as far as Nicky is aware, he has yet to pass out. 

“Good afternoon,” Nicky says, though he pauses. “At least, I think it’s the afternoon.” 

Joe laughs quietly, which is when Nicky looks up from the book. Oh, he’s just in a towel. It’s nothing new, but that does not make it any less of a sight for him to casually watch while Joe hunts around for clothes. 

“It _is_ afternoon, you are correct there,” Joe replies matter of factly. “Do you want to go to the store, or are we nominating Andy?”

“We can't just order pizza? Takeout?”

“You know we’re going to be doing that a lot while we linger here.” 

Nicky groans, setting the book down. “I’ll go, of course I will. I assume you are coming with me?”

“Just me.” 

“Alright.” Nicky slowly sits up, though he can feel his body protesting at the very notion of leaving the comfortable bed. “Can we go now? I don't feel particularly inclined to fall asleep.” 

Joe looks back with a little smirk. “You’re having troubles staying awake?”

“My body thinks it’s on the other side of…” He trails off, suddenly catching the drift. “Yes, I am.”

As anticipated (though also immensely desired), Joe wanders over to Nicky. His hands are soft and gentle when he cups Nicky’s face, though the way he has positioned himself over him would suggest that it is less wholesome than initially anticipated. Joe kisses roughly, hungrily, and Nicky would be lying if he said he wasn’t reciprocating in the same way. His hand trails down Joe’s chest, going to remove the towel so they can clearly make it known they’re getting down to business, but Joe stops him, pulling back with a wry smile. 

“Is there something you want?”

“Perhaps.”

Joe slips off of the bed, going back to his luggage. “Then _perhaps_ you can wait until after dinner.” 

“You can be cruel to me sometimes, _habibi._ I get so excited and then—“

The way Joe looks at him definitely does not help. In fact, Nicky is almost sure he’ll melt on the spot, but he falls quiet and settles back on the bed. What is definitely not helping his case is that he is already dressed for going outside. If he were still in a towel? Maybe it would be different. It still doesn’t stop him from subtly watching Joe get dressed over the top of his book. He’s good at pretending like he’s been reading the entire time, a perfected art form, even if he knows that Joe can see straight through that sort of shit. 

It’s just the two of them that go to the grocer down the street, and even with Nicky being half asleep, he manages to have a good time. Though, he is quick to pull them into an Italian market he could recognize from a mile away, just to poke around inside and see what they have. It’s got _the smell_ he’s learned to secretly adore, and the further in he gets, the faster he has decided that _this_ is tonight’s dinner. The other option (and what he had been planning) was some form of chicken, so Nicky is not too upset at the prospect of getting to linger in the kitchen for longer than initially necessary while making something he enjoys more.

“Do you think they would be upset if I brought this back?” Nicky asks, turning back to Joe when he does. He’s holding up a bag of fresh pasta and a sausage brick. “I _did_ say chicken, but in all fairness, this is better than chicken.” 

“It _has_ been awhile since we’ve had pasta,” Joe points out. “I really doubt they will.” 

Nicky finds himself unsure, but he nods. “In which case,” he says simply, placing them both in the basket Joe is carrying around for him. He proceeds to further wander into the back of the shop and observe what they carry. 

More things get placed in the basket. Some of the labels he has to try to read several times, just to compute what it is saying. He still puts the can of tomatoes in before he can fully understand what it says it contains, however. The can was in goddamn Italian, too, but it’s almost like Nicky’s brain is set to another language at the moment. Not English, definitely, though it might be French. Then again, it would be highly unfortunate if it was set to French, so he finds himself hoping it’s Arabic instead.

“Is there vodka anywhere?” Nicky asks aloud, mostly to Joe, as he glances around the horribly small alcohol section. Not that he wants to bring a full bottle back to Booker, but he does need a fair amount. “And…cream, I need _heavy_ cream.” 

“We can also go to the regular store if needed,” Joe points out, though he seems amused by Nicky’s current state. 

“We might have to.” 

Nicky scours to the best of his ability, but ultimately he gives up once he’s gathered what he has, including a few new pieces of cheese. He pays, and takes the bag when they step back outside. They have to go back to Booker’s apartment to put it away, but it gives Nicky a chance to look through the spice rack that he imagines is horribly old–he tries a few of them, but marks down on a list of the things he will need to replace. Equipped with that fresh knowledge, he heads out one more time, Joe still at his side, going back to a general supermarket and slipping in. It’s small inside–Nicky feels like he’s squeezing through some of the isles, but he does not particularly mind. He likes it, even. Everything is easy to find, and while Nicky is distracted by reaching up for top shelves, Joe slips a few things into the basket. Nicky pretends he doesn’t see them for now. 

Though he almost feels like he needs another shower when he returns, Nicky is pretty quickly tossing himself into the kitchen and setting to work. Joe settles down in the corner to keep him company. Though, he’s got his sketchbook out, so it’s rather debatable as to whether or not he is actually paying attention. But, Andy comes in and sits on the counter–directly in the way, as she undoubtedly intended–to talk to him as well. She makes idle conversation, undoubtedly bored from whatever Booker and Nile are conversing about now. 

Nicky feels dead on his feet by the time he’s completely done. Everything is in bowls, Andy’s helped with some of the dishes, and everything else is taken care of. Part of him isn’t even hungry anymore, but he knows he should definitely eat _something_ before he tries to sleep. Nile has come in, saying that they’re watching a movie tonight while they have dinner. While part of Nicky wants to throw hands so he can get some sleep, he ultimately decides not to even remark against it. He takes his bowl instead (he generally has a designated bowl, mostly so he doesn’t have to go back for seconds), settling into the corner of the couch, where he can curl up into a ball and hope for the best. Joe usually would not sit next to him when they do things like this, but Nicky asks him to tonight, for undeniably the sole purpose of taking a brief nap on his shoulder when he gets too tired to continue to function. 

The movie is Nile’s choice, something Nicky has seen once before. He remembers enjoying it, at least, but it doesn’t keep him from curling up into Joe’s shoulder and briefly falling asleep. Though he is not asleep for the whole movie, he’s woken up when something loud happens; though that is also when Nicky comes to the realization that Andy, too, has fallen asleep on Joe. At least Joe doesn’t seem to mind. Nicky sits up, at least left with enough energy from his brief nap to finish the night. 

Booker is stuck doing the dishes once the movie is over, though Nile dries and puts them away. Andy lingers outside the kitchen for moral support, but once Nicky has thanked them for helping clean up, he vanishes back into Joe and his room to change into softer clothes. Though, Joe is in there soon with him, before he’s finished changing, and makes a small proposition. He found newsprint and some of his old charcoals–if Nicky is too tired, he understands, but if not, he would like to draw him. 

Without much motive to say no, and having some amount of energy from the power nap he took during the movie, Nicky finds himself stripping down to pose for Joe. He’s used to being drawn, though _actually_ posing hasn’t been something he’s tried in a long while, and it’s been easily longer since charcoal was the medium. The room is cool, which makes things more bearable, even with the chair being uncomfortable. Had they not been together for over nine hundred years, Nicky would have been concerned at how quickly Joe was able to get the base down, but it’s rather normal at this point. When Nicky’s thinking about it–because he has plenty of time to just think, seeing as he can’t move–it’s been awhile since he’s volunteered to model for figure drawing. It’s an easy way for extra cash, which isn’t exactly an issue in America, but Nicky also finds the modeling good for what feels like alone time and thinking. _Plus_ weaseling his way into random art pieces has been his forte since the fourteenth century, whether or not it was intentional.

They go through three long poses before Nicky’s putting his clothes back on. He can get his sweatpants on before Joe’s taking him by the waist and pulling him close.

“Hey, hands off the model,” Nicky teases, though he just wraps his arms around Joe’s shoulders to lock himself in place against his body. “You know that’s highly unprofessional.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t quite know how to be a professional around you, my love.” 

Nicky kisses him gently, running his fingers through Joe’s curls. Joe tastes sweeter than usual tonight–maybe it’s the after-dinner wine they had, maybe it’s something else, Nicky can’t quite say. He pulls back after what feels like too short a moment, and he rests their foreheads together. They’re quiet for a long moment, and Nicky is content to just take all of Joe in, though Nicky pauses. 

“There is still charcoal on your hands.” Nicky pulls back to look at Joe, sighing softly, but he doesn’t get very far in his pretending to be upset before Joe’s kissing him again, though there’s considerably more heat behind it. 

_…Oh?_

“Is there something you would like, darling?” Nicky asks when Joe pulls away, his voice a low purr. 

“Perhaps there is.” 

Nicky’s lips curl into a smile to match the words as he feels Joe’s lips shift to his neck to kiss once, then suck. Though, he can officially no longer form coherent thoughts when he feels Joe’s fingers on the waistband of his sweatpants, gently tugging them down. 

_Oh!_

  
  



	2. 86th St

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile gets to go on an adventure into the Upper East Side and Joe reveals some of Booker's past jobs (and future plans).

They’re on the subway at nine in the morning, Nile’s earbuds in on the ride. It’s been a long time since she slept with the radio on, but Andy turned it on almost as soon as they had turned in for the night. Nile slept alright and all, but she still is scared to ask _why_ it happened, even if she thinks she may know the answer. Joe is next to her, the suspected culprit, flipping through a paperback he got within the past few days, sitting in silence. It’s not a particularly bad ride, even if Nile has grown used to seeing people give the pair strange looks if they even bother looking twice. Most don’t, but that’s just how cities are. You think that everyone’s watching you and judging your every action when ninety percent of the crowd could care less about your existence, and the other ten percent is only watching for the sake of entertainment.

Nile skips a song, glancing up at the blinking light that tells them how far up Lexington Avenue they’ve gone. _59th St, 68th St-Hunter College, 77th St..._ Joe nudges her once they hit 86th Street, and Nile tugs out her earbuds to stand up with him. They wait by the door, escaping the rush of people climbing off by being some of the first to leave the train. The book Joe brought goes in Nile’s bag (she makes him put it in there instead of his pocket–she’d rather _die_ than be seen with that) and they walk down the street. 

“So…where are we going? Why so early?” Nile asks, oblivious to all the signs around them as they leave the subway station. “Why’d you wanna bring me too?”

“I figured you would appreciate it, and I can’t bring Booker places like this, he gets too excited and starts talking about theft plans.”

Nile’s eyebrows immediately furrow. “He _what_?”

“Booker was a forger first and foremost before his initial death,” Joe says with a shrug. “I won’t lie, some of them are absolutely fantastic.” 

" _What_ did he forge, though?”

Joe merely smiles at her, and Nile groans and shoves her hands in her pockets. She’s wearing shorts and a lightweight jacket (even if it _feels_ like it’s well over ninety degrees, though it may actually be), so her hands are in her jacket pockets. Shaking her head, she follows Joe around the corner and looks up at the buildings. They’re way too nice, just from the outside alone. Part of Nile would love to live up here, but she isn’t sure she could do it in the long run. She’s about to open her mouth to comment on it when she stops in her tracks, staring at the _huge_ building in front of them, across the street. 

She’s still gaping when Joe laughs, though she shuts her mouth quickly.

“The Met.” It’s difficult for her voice to stay steady, though she’s not sure her heart can take it. “It’s…we’re at the Met.” 

“Of all of us, I’m the only one that consistently keeps up with art,” Joe says, beginning to cross the street. Her knees are wobbling when she hurries to follow. “Booker forges things, but it’s not the same. Besides…I know you wanted to go to art school after your tour. Art History, no?”

“I…yeah. Maybe I’d’ve minored in drawing…” Nile isn’t used to things like this–people paying attention and going out of their way to do kind things for her. Granted, some of that changed with her new family, but remembering what she wanted to study? Half her friends couldn’t have even told you that, especially not when they were at their closest.

Joe stops at the foot of the stairs, turning to look at Nile. She’s still processing it, but it doesn’t stop her from hugging Joe for a split second. He hugs her back without question, pulling back as soon as she lets go. 

“ _Thank you_ ,” she gets out quietly, regaining her composure as quickly as possible. “I…yes. Yes. Thank you.” 

He smiles briefly, gesturing for her to follow him up the stairs. It’s wild, trekking up after him, watching people mill around and sit on the steps with their food from trucks or play with their kids or linger by the fountain. Nile follows him inside, offering them her bag to poke through and slipping easily through the rest of security. Damn, she’s really glad she didn’t bring her gun now, but it makes sense why Joe didn’t either. They get tickets from a kiosk, and Nile puts the little sticker on while Joe offers her a map. 

“Where to first?” 

There’s so much to take in, Nile shakes her head. “Maybe…straight through Medieval? And I really wanna see Greek and Roman–but also _Egyptian_. Oh! If we start _upstairs_ , go European paintings and trail our way back down…”

“This is why we’re here early,” Joe says, laughing quietly. “Lead the way.” 

Nile does. She keeps the map in her backpack and starts up the staircase, and though she hesitates, her first instinct is to turn left and slow her pace as she wanders through the initial sight of what lines the walls. Admittedly, she doesn’t know where she’s going, but she doesn’t care enough to pull the map back out. No, she’s fascinated by everything she sees, and meanders forwards–always forwards–until she’s stopping because she’s too interested in a piece. Nile’s first question to Joe is hesitant–she isn’t sure whether or not he could know the answer–but when he gives her an answer anyways, she begins to press more. _Why does the paint do that? Why use this color? Didn’t all these people go crazy from the oil paints they were huffing? Did you ever paint with those oils?_

Joe is incredibly patient, though she knew that already, and he answers each one to the best of his ability. Sometimes, it’s not much of an answer, but there isn’t a single time that he can’t _try_ to give her something. 

Once she gets comfortable with it, she asks more questions. She’s also in awe at some of the art she’s seeing, and finds herself needing to stand in front of it and stare for several minutes. However, for her questions, Joe at least has enough knowledge of art styles and times that he can give brief explanations, even if he isn’t familiar with the work. She learns about the time they spent in France as well and their brief trips across the channel to England. Nile gets to hear about the _two_ Shakespeare plays that Joe saw in person–Hamlet and Much Ado About Nothing. Supposedly, Hamlet almost got Andy to cry. _Almost._ Not quite. Joe admits to getting a little emotional. 

He switches back to talking about paintings shortly. There are some rooms that he openly admits would be more suited for Booker to discuss, as he knows more about French culture if by no other default than being French. However, it’s mostly the rooms of furniture that Joe makes those remarks, but he adds that Booker _can_ be a lot of fun in museums. The next room they come into is larger; the walls are a bit more welcoming than the others and there’s plenty of light streaming through. Many of these paintings are larger, and Nile takes an interest in one that’s seemingly created by a French painter, Pierre-Auguste Cot.

“Did you ever watch _How to Steal a Million_?” Joe asks Nile, who stops next to her in front of a painting that she would say is very pretty, even if she doesn’t recognize the artist. For as interested as she is in art, there’s a lot of people in here she doesn’t know, but _boy_ does she want to.

“With Audrey Hepburn?”

Joe grins. “That’s the one.” 

Nile nods. “Yeah, my mom likes that movie,” she says with a little smile. “Why?”

“Booker is good at forging art, but he always struggles when it comes to making something his own. He never knows where to put the colors, he thinks too technically about it–that’s the way to put it, he _thinks_ about it instead of _feels_ ,” Joe explains, gesturing to the painting. “But, even then, I can say his forgeries are masterful.” 

It takes Nile a second to register what Joe’s just said, but even then she laughs for a split second and shakes her head. All Joe has to do is look at her, raise his eyebrows, and smile. Her own grin immediately vanishes as she looks back at the painting. 

“No fucking _way_ , Booker did this?” 

“You don’t want to see the home he has in France,” Joe muses, continuing along the room. “What’s your favorite painting? Do you have one? Or a favorite artist? Oh–we could also go to the Museum of Modern Art later today–they have one of the Waterlilies and Starry Night.” 

“ _The_ Starry Night? Like Van Gogh?”

“That would be the one.” Joe grins over at her. “You want to see it?”

“Of course!” Nile finds herself grinning too, matching pace with Joe. “What else do they have? Not that I…don’t love this and all, I do, honest.” 

Joe laughs. “I believe you. There’s…Picasso, Klimt, Warhol…a surprising amount.” 

“Could we go tomorrow?”

“I don’t see why not.” 

Nile throws her arms around Joe, getting another laugh out of him. He hugs her back, a warm thing with a nice squeeze at the end. She pulls away after a moment, stepping back with a board-straight posture, clearing her throat with an eyebrow raised and a more serious expression.

“Are they all real, though?”

“Well…most of them.” 

“Dammit, Booker.” 

“Only the Warhol’s not, from what I remember, but I think even I could forge the Warhol.” Joe chuckles quietly, stopping when Nile stops to look at another painting. “We take bets on Booker, see if he can forge something and steal it successfully. Sometimes he ropes Nicky into helping him.” 

Nile smiles a bit, shaking her head. “I wanna see that happen,” she says quietly. 

“It’s fun when you do. He’s trying to plan what he calls the heist of all heists–the Mona Lisa. And it _has_ been stolen before, before you ask, but Booker’s version has yet to happen since he won’t know what to do with it once it’s gone from the Louvre.” 

She’s lost in a large painting in the next room, and she can’t deny it. There’s something that makes her want to step inside of it–the movement, the colors, the way she can see the gentle strokes made by the artist. All of it. If it takes her a thousand years to master it, she’ll do it, she wants to be this good at painting one day. If one day they get a long break and she can go to art school, she would in a heartbeat, but a part of her gets the feeling she’ll have a better teacher in the person standing right next to her. He offers her a figure drawing class tomorrow–later in the evening, once they’ve finished with MoMA. Nile accepts on the spot, asking if they can get supplies tonight. Of course, Joe says yes, and he suggests a store he spotted while walking around their neighborhood.

Nile is even more giddy than she had been before as she’s wandering through the galleries with Joe. On rare occaion, she can point out paintings and actually talk about what little she knows about them. She _knows_ that Joe probably knows, but he never makes her feel stupid or tells her he’s aware of the history. Instead, he patiently listens and offers something on _technique_ that would’ve been part of history, and Nile can jump back in with the colors. Those are the moments that she feels the most at home, her heart the most warm. 

“Nicky never really paid attention to art unless he was directly involved in the piece,” Joe remarks as they pass through a smaller room. It’s definitely been a few hours by now, up and down several flights of stairs several times. Nile has stopped in front of _The Adoration of the Magi_ , the plaque giving the artist’s name and the year. “Which is rather unfortunate, considering we were in Italy for much of the early Renaissance. Yes, we were still fighting from time to time, but we had more off days, and when we did, I liked to go be with the artists.”

Nile can admit that she’s very interested, even though she’s staring at the painting. She hums to show that she’s listening.

“I had a good time, at least. I met a lot of people who I wish I’d spent more time with now,” Joe continues. “Nobody knew they’d be as big as they are now. Imagine actually being able to say I was friends with da Vinci or Michaelangelo–not together, at least.” 

“You _met_ them?”

“Met is a good word, yes. I never got to know them.” 

Nile shakes her head. The problem is that she _knows_ he’s telling the truth. “God damn.” 

Joe chuckles, but they continue along. It’s shortly after that Nile finds herself standing on the edge of Greek and Roman, and she hesitates before she takes the several paces that carry her inside. Joe stays by her side, and when Nile asks what he knows about this stuff, he says simply that it’s Andy’s area of expertise, but he remembers what she’s told him over the years when they’ve encountered this era of art. He also points out that even with little to no Greek paintings surviving to the modern day, Andy undoubtedly holds memories of them. Just to think about that alone makes Nile want to ask her more questions later, though whether or not she’ll have the energy is debatable. But, she genuinely wants to know Andy’s perspective on some of this stuff. 

They only decide to leave when they’re both ready for lunch and not willing to try the cafe in the museum itself. However, they _have_ to go through the Met store on their way out. Nile doesn’t know what to get at first, but after much debate she settles on a pin and a patch; the pin to put on her bag, and the patch to put on one of her jackets. She’s begun to collect, figuring she has nothing better to do with her time as an immortal. She’s already in her _thirties_ –her goddamn thirties–and she doesn’t feel a day over twenty six. It’s strange to her, but she accepts it. 

She doesn’t want to think about putting herself in Andy’s shoes, but it still fills her mind before she can put a stop to it; where places like Chicago and New York City will be ancient ruins in history books, and all the art they make now will be viewed like modern people view the renaissance, or they’ll lose said art. Either could happen. Alternatively, what if humans have gotten to space by then? What if they’ve finally reached the final frontier? Nile would love to explore space if it ever gets to that point, but she doesn’t want to think about leaving Earth, not now. She’s getting existential while Joe guides her back out of the museum, yet once she’s met with the outside heat and sun, she can snap the thoughts away quickly.

“Anywhere good for a bite up here?” Nile asks as she starts down the stairs. “There’s gotta be, with a place like _this._ That’s how this stuff works.” 

“Lots of Italian, some French…if you were in the mood for a burger, there’s more places downtown that would be better than up here. Except Shake Shack.” 

Nile admittedly smiles a bit. “Listen, I know you guys are like…crusty and ancient, but Shake Shack is God’s gift to mankind, and if you can’t see that, I’m sorry, but your thousand years of life are a lie.” 

Joe laughs. “Is that where we’re going?”

“ _Hell_ yes!”

Nile gets a burger, fries, and a shake. They eat there, Nile talking more about what her college plan was, the art she loved the most when she was in high school, some of her friends (who she grew away from when they went away to school) and what they wound up doing with their lives. She wonders how they are, sometimes, and she wonders what they would say if they could see her now. If they’d recognize her, or say anything. What they look like, their families, too. Nile has been tempted to stalk FaceBook and Instagram, but she knows it’s a bad idea. 

In turn, Nile gets to learn about some of Joe’s friends throughout the years. He gives her a few from when he was mortal (or, thought he was mortal), though admits that some of the details are rather fuzzy. It’s interesting to hear more of his life story, even with Joe undoubtedly being the one person in the group that she knows the most about. 

They talk about music, too, while Nile’s finishing her fries and trying to make her shake last as long as possible. Joe plays a _lot_ of instruments, she discovers, as it was easy to pick up while on the road and fill the void of time when he wasn’t all over Nicky. He mentions that he’s been messing around with acoustic guitars recently, learning some songs again, though he misses lutes being common, and wishes he could get his hands on a violin or a _real_ piano–he specifies the latter by saying he’s not a big fan of keyboards. Nile can’t play any instruments yet, but she loves the idea of learning, and she wants to learn badly. She can talk about the kinds of music she’s been into lately as well, since she hasn’t talked to Joe about bands in awhile.

She brings her shake remains with her when they leave for the subway station to head back towards home, though it gets thrown out very quickly since she finishes it. Nile settles back into the subway ride with Joe–he lets her sit in the corner, which is appreciated, even if it very soon is revealed to be rush hour and the train is packed with more people than Nile thought possible. Popping in her earbuds, she subjects herself to observing the people on the train while they go, as they have thirty or forty minutes before they even need to transfer. She’s listening to a playlist, one that she taps her knee along to with her knuckles while they ride. At one point, a dog comes on board that Nile has to ask to pet, and she gives the little guy some head scratches. Undoubtedly, she’s grinning ear-to-ear the whole time.

The fresh Brooklyn air is a relief to Nile when they’re stepping out at the station that’s closest to home, but they don’t go straight there. Joe takes her down a side street that’s _close_ but not directly over. She’s curious, but finds that she likes the area quite a bit. If she could, God, she’d love to live in this city for a decade. 

The art store Joe takes her to is close to their temporary home, and Nile is careful about what she picks out. Joe, of course, tells her all the good brands and steers her clear of some products he doesn’t particularly enjoy using, but she manages to get a good grasp on a collection of things she can use for their figure drawing class tomorrow. He doesn’t get very much, saying he has enough newsprint at the apartment, but he does get fixative. Nile is happy to walk out of the store with a large bag and a grin while Joe follows her out with a paper sleeve of new charcoal. 

She’s thanking him again for the day the entire way back to the apartment, talking about how excited she is for the next day, and definitely rambling about her new sketchbook–it’s a hardcover, so she won’t have to worry about it getting ruined in her backpack, and she’s planning to keep it in the sleeve in case it gets thrown in a pool of blood on accident. They get up to the apartment, Andy almost immediately asking how it was. Nile’s more than happy to sit on the couch with her and unload everything while Joe goes to the dining table to greet Nicky. Even Booker, who’s been lounging outside with a cigarette, pokes his head inside to listen and butt in with his own remarks. 

The first one being the most recent iteration of his plan to steal the Mona Lisa. 

  
  



	3. Christopher St/Sheridan Sq

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe and Nicky decide they need a day alone together. Where better than Greenwich Village?

Nicky’s fingers absentmindedly lace themselves into Joe’s, and he smiles for a moment as they come out of the subway station. It’s _different_ when they have a short break between jobs and they happen in an area that’s actually queer-friendly. Most of the time, they’re not so lucky. But just simply being able to hold Joe’s hand right now is making all the difference in the world, and he rests his head on his shoulder as they walk. 

It has yet to cool down, so the first stop is ice cream. Nicky opens the door for Joe, slips inside immediately after him. It’s busy, but still pleasantly cool. Even after being in the city for a couple of days, Nicky still can’t help just how incredibly jet lagged he is. As far as he’s concerned, it is getting late, which means getting comfortable at home–not that being outside is bad, but his body is definitely confused by it. Joe kisses his temple gently, giving his hand a squeeze–a comforting feeling. At least they’re getting the time difference fixed _now_ instead of later.

Nicky pulls out a water bottle from the mini fridge when they round the corner, offering one to Joe who shakes his head. It goes on the counter when they order, Joe choosing the _Salty Pimp_ (which, yes, it very easily makes Nicky chuckle) and, though it comes with debate, Nicky gets their spin on a strawberry shortcake sundae. It has a similar name that’s just a _little_ off, one that he can’t quite wrap his head around, but whether that’s from lack of sleep or that he almost reads it off the board in Italian, he can’t say. It’s just one of those days. 

“As much as I’m still not Booker’s biggest fan,” Nicky muses once they’ve gotten their ice cream (it’s a five minute wait, maybe ten, but neither minds), “I would like to go back to Paris soon.”

“What does Booker inherently have to do with Paris?” Joe chuckles, poking at his cone with a spoon. “Just because _he_ owns a flat there too does not mean we can’t go anyways. What’s stopping us from getting our own little place in Paris again?”

Nicky smiles for a moment, shaking his head. “I suppose we could. So long as you promise to keep me away from the bakeries.” 

“I would never dream of it, _mi amore_. Though, while we’re out, I do want to go by a store–I’ve been meaning to get back into baking.” 

Nicky shoots him a playful glare. “Your punishments for me are cruel and unusual.” 

“ _Because I enjoy punishing you?_ ” Joe teases, switching to Italian. It’s making Nicky nervous about the follow up. “ _If I really wanted to punish you, we wouldn’t be in an ice cream shop_.” 

He turns pink, looking away from Joe and focusing on the ice cream. “ _Hotels in New York are expensive, Andy isn’t going to let me live down the other night as it is._ ”

“ _Hotels are less expensive than finding a reason for everyone to go out but us._ ” 

“And you say you’re not a tease, _habibi_ ,” Nicky muses, switching back to (mostly) English as he pouts. God, whipped cream is good. So is strawberry, though.

Joe chuckles a bit, shaking his head and going back to the chocolate. “I’m not,” he says quietly. “I simply enjoy pointing things out. Besides, the day is young, there are still things for us to do.” 

“You’ll be the death of me.” Nicky’s hand gently touches Joe’s leg, a very small squeeze following suit.

“I will never be the cause of your death again.” 

It undoubtedly makes no sense to anyone who overhears, but it does not particularly matter. Nicky still smiles, returning to his ice cream. It’s (thankfully) cool inside, and they have lodged themselves in a small spot where even when the door opens, they aren’t blasted by the wet heat from outside. That does not mean they aren’t headed back out soon enough anyways, deciding to just walk around for a bit in a cool part of town that also happens to be a safe place for them to show affection. It’s generally hot and sticky, but Nicky still thinks the day is rather nice, and he would rather be out here than back home anyways. Granted, there’s still other places they could go into and explore, undoubtedly where cooling off would be nice too. 

But outside is just fine. 

There’s a cool breeze that occasionally drifts through the curvy little streets, cutting through the heat and offering brief relief. They stop in a record shop and spend a long while in there, reminiscing over music that came out decades ago–Nicky only buys something because he would feel bad otherwise, but it’s something to take back with them. Wherever comes next after New York–Andy at one point said something about Kiev, so Ukraine is a fair bet. Nicky took the year long break for granted, he knows now, and he is beginning to think that settling down for a little bit would be nice at this rate. It won’t happen, but he can imagine it. Joe also picks up a record or two while they linger in the shop; they get stuck in the same bag as Nicky’s and the pair is headed out again. 

They continue up Bleecker Street, and if they stop, it’s just to peer in through the windows. They pop into another shop or two, but don’t linger for nearly as long as the record store, instead opting to continue down the road. It takes a lot of willpower for Nicky _not_ to go investigate the bakery he sees, but Joe simply promises they will return at a later date before he can say a word. Not that he’s opposed to it–it’s probably for the best. 

Joe suggests they go back to the apartment, get changed and go out somewhere nice to dinner. Nicky is not opposed in the least, and though he’s still not _great_ with phones, he can figure it out well enough to find someplace good (and surprisingly familiar) and call in for a reservation. They sit in a park while he does it–a fairly empty park, but it’s better that way for noise control. Nicky is lounging, almost completely slumped back, while Joe plays with his free hand. The call is short and simple once he has given his name and gently suggested that they _make room_ ; they have a reservation at seven thirty now. 

Nicky gets coffee on the way back to the subway. Something iced so they can leave quickly, but it helps him stay awake on the ride back. They don’t go immediately back to Booker’s apartment once they get back into Brooklyn–they find their way to a store nearby. Nicky tosses his cup after eating some of the ice, tailing after Joe as they wander around the supermarket, holding the basket while Joe puts in whatever he thinks he needs. 

He’s not much of a helper when it comes to this stuff, but he’s good company at least. Nicky can at least answer a few questions too—not many, but a few. Personal preference is where most of the answers come from. He does, however, stick a pack of gum on the counter at the end. Joe shoots him a look for it, but he winds up smiling before Nicky can start teasing him. They leave and walk the rest of the way to the apartment, Nicky carrying one of the bags but managing to remain close to Joe while they walk. 

It is surprisingly calm when they come back in, even if they are not going to be there too long. Nicky doesn’t pay too much attention to _what_ the three they left in the apartment are doing, just acknowledges that they’re there and grabs his towel to slip into the bathroom.

He and Joe shower together. Might as well, they both need it, though it’s not a raunchy affair. It’s rather intimate, spent as a moment of privacy. Nicky forgets about his hair being long more often than not, which means once he’s out, he’s actually got to put some effort into drying it. It’s not as thick as Joe’s, by any means. When Nicky actually dries it, his hair manages to look pretty good. However, there’s the grave mistake he’s made of leaving his clothes in the other room, which means that he has to try to slink by the others and go undetected.

He manages to get the door open and take two steps out before Andy’s whistling from behind a book. Nicky is still wrapped in the towel, and were he not holding it up with one hand, he would have doubly flipped her off, but ultimately he just rolls his eyes and manages to get into his room just as Booker joins in and whistles too. Except, Nicky has no qualms about throwing the first thing he can get his hands on at Booker, which means he gets a rather hefty book thrown straight at his face. Nicky doesn’t stick around to see the result, and instead sifts through what little closet he’s gotten organized. Quickly, he finds the three piece suit he always brings along with him, though Nicky is not convinced that he will be wearing the vest quite yet. Having the option to wear a suit in general hardly arises, and Nicky is not passing up this opportunity.

“I didn’t realize we were going somewhere this nice,” Joe says from behind when Nicky’s halfway through putting on his tie. “That definitely changes what I’m wearing.” 

“And miss a chance to see you in a suit? I don’t think so.” 

Joe shakes his head, though he can’t hide the grin. “It goes both ways, _mi amore_.” 

Nicky usually would not wear the vest, but he knows he pulls it off well, and therefore decides he may as well. Out of habit, he still keeps his pistol on him, though it’s strapped to his lower calf and hides rather well under his pants. Considering their track record, Nicky doesn’t trust a completely pleasant night to go without a hiccup or two, and he would rather be safe than sorry. Unsurprisingly, Joe doesn’t bring his pistol, but Nicky does not feel the need to comment on it. Instead, he meanders over to tie Joe’s tie. It’s not that he needs help, it’s more that it is nice for Nicky to be in close proximity, and he now has an excuse to do so. He kisses Joe’s cheek when he’s done, slipping away to pack some American money into his wallet and stick that in his pocket. He’s got too much of the stuff, and considering he never uses it, he might as well bring whatever he feels is necessary. 

“We’ll be back,” Nicky announces once they’re out in the living room. “Late, probably. Have fun with dinner.” 

Nile’s been sketching, and based on how she’s sitting it looks like it may be the landscape of what’s out the window. Booker’s turned on the TV while Andy hasn’t moved from the book she had out earlier. Nicky doesn’t really stop as he walks to the elevator, pressing the button and leaning against the wall as Joe straightens out a painting that got crooked somehow. 

“So…am I calling Tony’s?” Booker audibly asks. “Unless you can cook, Nile.” 

“Why me?”

“Because Andy burns things or over seasons.” 

“I do _not_ -“

Nicky is glad they can step in and escape the drama about to ensue. It’s true, Andy does burn things, it’s why Nicky usually does the cooking. That or it’s some recessive Italian gene that makes him want to take care of everyone he cares about, he can’t exactly say. He knows they’ll order pizza, though, probably two at that. Hopefully, when he and Joe come back, there will still be an apartment building. 

Though they could have asked Booker for the car he undoubtedly has sitting around, they take the subway up into the city. Nicky is surprisingly awake now, though it’s more confusing to him than not, because when he checks his watch (the one he hasn’t switched to American time yet), it’s telling him _12:57AM_ and he’s really got to wonder where the hell his body thinks he is for his internal clock. Somewhere in the Atlantic, at this rate, but he’s adjusting. They get off just north of Midtown, and it almost fills him with a sense of unease at how easily they blend in with the other men getting off of work from the Financial District. 

The restaurant they make their way into is swanky, one that is a faint memory to Nicky, but that is not inherently a bad thing. He has to wrestle his way through a small crowd of people with martinis to get to the hostess, to whom he gives his name and bites back on his tongue to keep himself from smirking when she checks it twice and says she’s grabbing her manager. Nicky merely looks over to Joe and shrugs, who gives him a grin and a warm laugh in return. Even with the fact it’s very much summer outside, the warm feeling inside Nicky’s soul is pleasant. 

“Nicolo?” 

He turns back to look at who must be the manager, giving a polite smile and nodding. This guy is definitely not who he recognizes, but managers switch in and out, and his deal is with the owner anyways. In all fairness, Nicky figures he’s not exactly what this guy was expecting either.

“I never thought I’d actually meet you, you’re somewhat of a legend.” The manager is picking up menus while he talks, gesturing for them to follow. 

“I was in town, figured I might as well stop by again,” Nicky says, shrugging. “I appreciate getting us in on such short notice.” 

He laughs, maybe nervously. “Of course, of course.” 

When he looks back to Joe, the amused look and questioningly raised eyebrow makes Nicky want to laugh, but he does his best to keep a straight face until they have sat down and the manager has left them alone. Nicky sips water, and waits for the waitress to come by. She’s pretty, Nicky would not have been surprised if she was picked for them explicitly. Not that he cares, _clearly_ , but he’s curious nonetheless. He orders a simple cocktail, saying he’ll look at the wine list later so she doesn’t take it away, and once she’s gone, he looks back to Joe.

“What’s your question?” he asks with a wry smile.

“When did _this_ come around?” Joe’s clearly still amused, which makes Nicky’s heart smile. “And how did I miss it?”

Nicky shrugs. “I met the owner…a couple decades ago, in the Bronx. The group had split apart briefly tracking whoever we were after down, I helped him out of a sticky situation. He said he couldn’t do much to repay me. I’m not sure why I thought _this_ as repayment was a good idea, but it’s handy.” 

“What are you gonna do if he asks about…” Joe gives him a vague gesture. “The whole _you haven’t aged a day_ speech.” 

“Oh, that. I’m Nicolo’s son, clearly.” 

Joe laughs at it, but shakes his head. “It would work, I’ll bet.” 

“Unfortunately, it will, but that’s assuming it comes down to that.” 

The energy that’s wafting through the restaurant is nice too, and Nicky can’t help but smile through the majority of the time they are there. Joe seems to be feeling the same way, from what he can tell, once they relax into the drinks and order their food. Even after a thousand years, Nicky has yet to run out of things to talk to this man about, which is honestly rather shocking. 

Their waitress is flirting with Joe whenever she comes by. Shamelessly, too. It doesn’t upset Nicky, he would be doing the same thing in her position, but he also doesn’t actively try to stop it–especially not when Joe is just being polite at best in response. At one point near the end of the evening, Nicky does reach out to take his hand, loosely lacing their fingers from across the table while he sips his wine. He’d gotten a bottle of red that sounded good, not bothering to look at the price tag, but it turned out to be a good bottle. By the time they’re finishing, it must be closer to nine, but the restaurant is still busy. 

The waitress has backed off when she gives them the check, though that may have been from their hands alone. Nicky doesn’t want to ask about it. 

Nicky’s playing with Joe’s fingers absentmindedly while they finish the rest of the wine, Nicky blowing away the hair that falls in his face. After trial and error, he just pushes it away by raking his fingers through his hair. It works this time, though he’s really appreciating hair ties and wishing he had one at that moment in time. He could cut it, realistically, but at this point he’s too attached to the look he has going. 

He’s glad he told the waitress to keep the change, the less he has to put back in his wallet the better. Nicky finishes his glass of wine, and shortly after, he and Joe are on their way out. They stop at the coat check, Nicky handing back his ticket and stretching. It was a good dinner, he’s pleased with the evening. He takes a chance to observe the lessened crowd near the door; people still holding their martinis, all dressed nicely–except one man, with a backpack.

Nicky turns, watching this man without trying to hide it now. Joe starts to ask, but he stops quickly, presumably when he follows Nicky’s eyes. The man steps to the side, digging through the backpack, and Nicky feels himself tensing up. He knows how this is about to go, and yet…

The man at coat check is calling him. _Sir_ repeated once, twice. He doesn’t get to the third before the initial scream rips out of the crowd and everyone dressed up with their martinis ducks and cowers or runs into the tables to hide. Sure enough, the man has pulled out a _big_ gun. He’s asking for money, corralling the people nearest to the door back into the restaurant. Coat check man has disappeared into the stand, presumably to call the police.

Nicky doesn’t give himself time to think before he’s pulled out his pistol, aimed square at the head of the man with the gun. “ _Breathe, fuckwad, I dare you_ ,” he growls, pretty loudly, not aware he’s not talking in the right language to be understood. What can he say, _panic brain_ means going back to his roots, which is further back than the usual Italian his brain is thinking in.

Joe repeats what Nicky said in English, which is what tips him off that he was speaking Genoese. Damn. Either way, the gunman turns to look at Nicky and for a brief second smirks, but it vanishes quickly as he undoubtedly realizes that he’s staring down the barrel of a Glock 19.

“ _Put down_ –fuck, put down the gun,” he continues, slowly inching closer. Nicky’s really hoping this guy doesn’t just shoot him, he likes this suit too much. “Before you hurt someone you don’t mean to hurt.” 

“What are you, with the fucking mafia?”

 _Is my accent that bad?_ he thinks, though it doesn’t stop the sharp inhale and the shift in position. “Does it matter who I am or who I am not with? This is your last chance to put down the _fucking_ gun.” 

The man slowly but surely lowers it after what seems like internal debate, and Joe’s fast. He wrenches the thing from his hands and takes out the magazine, throwing it to the side and setting the gun on the ground to kick away. Joe backs away, and Nicky doesn’t blame him. He adjusts his grip on the pistol, exhaling slowly and shooting a look to Joe, who seems to solely be keeping an eye on the man’s every movement.

“Now, can we just calm down and sit here until the police arrive?” Nicky asks as he lowers the pistol, still slowly approaching. “Nobody got hurt, there’s no reason to panic–“

The steak knife that gets pulled from a nearby table is the reason Nicky flips the gun around to pistol-whip the poor son of a bitch. He shakes his head, watching the man slump over and drop the knife before he returns the gun to its holster. Once he appears to be confirmed down for the count, Nicky fixes his cuffs and sighs, shaking his head and taking his suit jacket from coat check to pull back on. 

“Sir, would you mind…staying…?” the hostess tries to ask while Nicky goes back to join Joe.

“For what?” 

“…I’m sure they’ll want to talk to witnesses–“

“You have plenty, and besides, nobody needs to know I was here.” Nicky shrugs, opening up the door for Joe. “Thank you for dinner, it was fantastic.” 

They make it down the block before Nicky’s got his fingers tangled in Joe’s, the other hand fucking with his hair. He is not happy about the situation, but the last thing he was going to do was let that man fill half the restaurant with bullets and bodies. If he can help it, he won’t ask Booker to fuck with the footage, but part of him is thinking it may be for the best. Just in case. 

He texts Booker briefly, including the address, then turns off his phone completely. Joe tugs him over to a bench to sit down at, which, though Nicky’s confused, he does not question it.

“I shouldn’t have done it, should I?” Nicky asks quietly. “I should have left them alone, it is not my problem, right?”

Joe shakes his head. “I don’t think I would say that,” he muses. “It will be interesting to see the end result of this, but you did the right thing.” 

“ _I’m sorry I did not give you much option to help,_ ” Nicky says, though he’s not sure why he decided on Arabic to say it in. “ _I…I do not trust Americans._ ”

Joe scoffs at that, shaking his head. “ _I don’t blame you,_ ” he replies, his voice all too soft. It kills Nicky a little. “ _And I don’t mind. You seemed to have it handled anyways. Had that man done anything, it would be a different story_.” 

“ _I wouldn’t have stopped you_.” 

“ _I know, my love._ ” Joe gives Nicky’s hand a small squeeze. “ _It is over now, though. We can go home and forget about it, yes?_ ”

“I’d like that,” Nicky says, his voice feeling far too small and quiet. “I would like that a lot.” 

Joe is the one to guide them back to where their temporary home is. They still take the subways, neither wanting the off-chance of giving their spot away to a taxi driver who happens to be more than just a taxi driver. By the time they have gone back inside, it’s cold and smells faintly of pizza. Booker is hunched over a laptop, occasionally typing, but Nicky slips him a couple of the bills he has. Booker doesn’t even look at them, but sticks them in his pocket anyways. 

“It’s not too big of a mess,” he says. “You’re lucky.” 

“Nobody got shot, if that is what you mean,” Joe says, already taking off his coat and loosing his tie. 

“That’s exactly what I mean. And you pay with cash, it makes things easier. What name did you use?”

“As far as they are concerned, I'm Nick Smith who has a relation to a _Nicolò_ ,” Nicky tells him. “So, nobody.” 

“Good.” 

Nicky changes into something infinitely more comfortable, tempted to just curl up in bed with Joe, but he doesn’t. Instead, he tails Joe back out into the kitchen and gets himself into a precarious position on the counter to watch him do whatever he’s about to do. From time to time, when Joe gets upset with something, the easiest way to fix the internal struggle is to do work with his hands. Nicky, being aware of this, decides to just linger close and make idle chatter. Things he wants to do while they’re there, more places he wants to see again, ways to pass the time until they need to actually carry out the job, and even the somewhat joke of a plan with Booker that involves another forgery and breaking into a museum to swap them. 

Joe offers input every now and then, and he does participate equally in the conversation. After twenty minutes, Nicky realizes Joe’s making cupcakes. Part of this realization comes from Joe asking if Nicky wants to try different frostings (which the answer is a very quick _yes, of course_ ), though the tray Joe’s washing also gives that away. Nicky helps with the dishes when they’re in the oven, swatting playfully at Joe when he tries to pull him away. They laugh, and Joe winds up with his arms around Nicky and his head on his back while the dishes get washed. It’s a nice presence to have, Nicky wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

By the time they’re done and frosted, Joe has moved on to putting together a dough. Bread, if Nicky can guess, but he does not ask while he pokes at the varying desserts with a fork to offer his opinion on the frosting. Booker steals a few at one point, audibly losing most of them to Nile, who’s watching a movie in the other room. Andy meanders in to take two, saying a little thanks before she returns to undoubtedly supervise Nile and Booker. Joe is mumbling about finishing the bread tomorrow when Nicky starts a green-frosting cupcake, really glad for his unusually high sugar tolerance at that point (he hasn’t been counting the desserts he’s been snacking on, though the way he currently feels and the fact that there aren’t many left does make him nervous). Honestly, Nicky doesn’t care when Joe finishes the bread, so long as he can continue to watch him work or until he feels better. Whichever comes first.

“Too much citrus,” Nicky muses after a moment, his eyebrow scrunched together. “It’s good, but it’s almost sour.” 

Joe glances up, seeming curious almost. “You think?”

“Try.” Nicky gets a bite onto the fork, offering it to Joe. “See? Just a little too much.” 

“Damn. What did you think of the chocolate?”

“Chocolate?” 

Joe shakes his head, laughing softly. “I’d give it to you, but my hands are covered in flour.” 

Nicky slips off the counter, but his first movement is to hug Joe from behind, rest his chin on his shoulder and look down to his work. He has to straighten out a bit, but he can do it, and he observes the dough and Joe’s hands while they knead. 

“I’m lucky I have a frighteningly good metabolism,” Nicky muses, kissing Joe’s cheek before he pulls back. 

Though, Joe turns, taking him by the waist and pulling him back in. “Maybe, maybe not,” Joe says quietly, “but I appreciate having a willing test subject.” 

He smiles, shaking his head briefly until Joe kisses him. It is short but sweet, and Nicky rests their foreheads together once he’s pulled away.

“Then again, I do not know if there’s a single thing you do that I do not appreciate,” Joe continued, his hand trailing lightly down Nicky’s jaw. “You are simply a gift given from an almighty being to someone as undeserving as me, and I get to keep you for eternity.” 

Nicky’s still smiling, his eyes shutting briefly though he drapes his arms over Joe’s shoulders. “I love you too. Even when you get flour all over me.” 

Joe laughs, doing his best to keep it quiet, though that doesn’t make it any less warming for Nicky’s soul. 

  
  



	4. 59th St/Columbus Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booker thinks going on morning runs with Nile will be easy, and he's very quickly proven wrong. Nile also visits her faith with Nicky.

Booker’s first mistake was agreeing to accompany Nile on her run. Every morning, time and location allowing, she still subjects herself to a good, long run. It helps her feel better, clear her head and stay in the physical shape she wants to be in. Even if she’s not exactly sure whether or not immortals can get out of shape—her prime example is Nicky, who she doesn’t know what the hell he does, if anything, but he still manages to look like _that_ even with his bordering ridiculous carb intake. Is it sex? Does he work out when she’s not looking? Does he just have an ungodly metabolism? It’s not fair, that’s for sure, and she doesn’t want to test it herself, but good God. 

Nile doesn’t want to answer all of those questions the more she thinks about it. 

She’s dragged Booker to Central Park for the morning, and she’s slowed her usual pace a bit, but he’s keeping up. Not happily, that is easily noted, but he’s doing a good job. Her Garmin says they’ve run four miles by nine thirty, and she stops for a brief water break. It’s a nice day, and a nice place to run. Not that Brooklyn isn’t fun, but a destination changes things up, especially when she has the option to see _Central Park_ for the first time (excluding the Met). She has stopped them at a good place to watch people go by while she lets Booker take a breather, though occasionally looks over to him to watch him heavily breathe and sip from his water.

“You good?” Nile asks, crossing her arms. She’s taken her drink of water, caught her breath, and while she understands Booker is not used to doing what she does, she can’t help but raise an eyebrow at him.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve run like that,” he admits. “ _Very_ long time.” 

“What did you think I did every morning?” 

“Something… _slightly_ different,” Booker continues. “Maybe a less fast pace.” 

“You realize I was in the Marines? The US Marine Corps?” As if her shirt didn’t give it away, the one that she usually sleeps in but decided to run in it for once as she’s actually comfortable wearing it in public for once. It’s just a simple shirt, something that looks a little vintage but still clearly reads _MARINES._

“Well, yes, but…”

Nile huffs. “Is this because I’m a woman?”

“No, not at all–“

“Uh _-huh_.” 

“I just was not anticipating a fast pace, I honestly didn’t consider the whole…Marines thing.” Booker straightens out again. “You know I served in the French Army, right?”

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” 

“Ha _ha_ , very funny.” He shakes his head, but still finds it in himself to chuckle. “It was that or prison, I wasn’t stupid, even if I was naive.” 

Nile raises an eyebrow, leaning against an empty bench now. Booker is on her other side, so she doesn’t have to worry about him sitting down, but her eyes aren’t on him anyways. She’s watching the people walk–or run–by. One person even says something like _thank you for your service_ and though she can’t completely bring herself to say anything, she can smile and briefly nod before she looks back to Booker.

“Were you not going to continue?” she asks, curiosity getting the better of her. “What happened?”

Maybe Booker never realized that he hadn’t told her. He shakes his head. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Napoleon sent troops to Russia, but the _Grande Armée_ didn’t stand a chance. I realized what was happening too late, tried to desert in the middle of winter, but I was caught. Made an example of. Except…clearly it didn’t work out so well.” Booker winks. “I’m good at playing dead, even when it’s for a couple days.”

“Shit,” Nile mumbles, glancing from him to the ground. “That’s…awful.” 

“I was a forger, they didn’t care whether I lived or died. Unfortunately for them, I lived. I think the trouble I cause now is just to spite them, sometimes.” Booker briefly smiles, but it fades quickly and he shakes his head. “It’s over with now, though.” 

“How…much have you forged?” Nile asks, turning to fully face him now. 

He shakes his head. “I don’t know.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Genuinely, the number is too high,” he says, laughing quietly to himself. “There’s so much art alone that isn’t real because of me that I’m not sure anymore, and we’re not including documents.” 

Nile shakes her head again, taking one last drink from her water bottle. “Let’s get going again,” she says, “I wanna get in somewhere before the lunch rush.” 

“What’s for lunch?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been here before!” Nile has began to run when she says it, almost tossing the words over her shoulder to a stationary Booker. “You tell me!” 

He audibly swears, in recognizable French, before he has to give a quick sprint to catch up to her. Nile speeds up just a bit when he gets close, just to hear him swear again, and she’s laughing hard enough that she _has_ to slow down and allow him to match pace with her once more.

It’s a good run, and she kicks it up a single notch to get into her usual groove with Booker trying his damndest to keep up and _not_ keel over. At one point, when he’s fallen a few steps behind, she tells him to _keep up, old man_ and he has no choice but to speed up and match her pace again. Though, once they’re halfway back, she does slow down her pace for his sake, and by the time they’re done, Booker looks murderous, but Nile is satisfied with the state of her run.

“Not bad, old man,” Nile tells him as they stop to drink water. “Eight miles at a pretty good pace? For your first time in how long?”

Booker swears again and Nile laughs, taking another swig of her water.

“I know you never really get out of shape, but damn. Is there a reason for that, by the way? Out of curiosity, I’m just wondering if my body is going to stay in this _peak_ physical condition,” Nile asks, finding something to lean on while she stretches. Still standing, of course. “Or will I get to the point that running four miles is difficult if I don’t keep it up?”

The way Booker looks at her tells her he knows what she’s really asking. “I have no idea, in complete honesty. I can still walk for thirty plus miles in a day if I need to, but running has never been my strong suit,” he answers carefully. “Though, I’m pretty sure we’re in some sort of bodily stasis so we don’t get physically weaker. I _think_ , don’t quote me on it.” 

“That makes sense, then.” 

“You’re wondering about Nicky’s fucking ridiculous carb intake, aren’t you?”

“ _Yes!_ What the _fuck_ is up with that?!” 

Booker actually laughs–a deep, hearty laugh that Nile is honestly not sure she’s heard before. If so, it’s rare. “Andy’s said he’s always been like that. Probably metabolism from when he was mortal, if I had to guess. Maybe some Italian genes, too, I don’t know.” 

“I wish that could’ve been me,” Nile mumbles, shaking her head. “It took me so long to look like this–and I look _hot_ –but to just…be like that? Not fair.” 

Booker shrugs, though he’s begun to walk in a direction that she has little choice but to follow. “Nicky’s an interesting sort, I’m sure you’ve gathered.” 

“Easily, yes.”

“Some things, you just can’t explain with him.” 

Nile sighs but nods. “I gathered that too…where are we going?”

“Somewhere.” 

She groans.

“You asked for lunch, did you not?” Booker asks, laughing while he does. “Or are you suddenly not hungry?”

“Of _course_ I am.” Nile gives Booker a playful shove, rolling her eyes. “But I’m curious.” 

“Do you like fish?”

“Of course.” 

“Then you’ll be fine, don’t worry about it.” Booker winks, but continues on his way. “Are you made out of sugar?”

Nile would cross her arms if she wasn’t hurrying to keep up with him. “No! Of course not!”

“See, that’s what I _thought_.” 

“I’m going to push you into the street and let you explain why you get back up after a taxi hits you.” 

“Okay, point made.” 

It’s not a very far walk, but Booker’s pace makes up for it. He walks unusually fast in general, this isn’t anything new, but compared to her previous days out when she was with Joe in museums, the pace has definitely picked up. Andy walks fast too, but that never surprises Nile. Out of everyone, Andy’s the one who has places to be. Booker takes her to a small sushi restaurant; they eat outside, Nile pleasantly surprised by how good it is. They make idle conversation while they eat, Nile talking about the drawing class she went to last night and how she felt about the figures she got in. Joe had worked with her a bit during the day on the subway rides and over breakfast, and it was enough to get her going somewhat decently at the class. A few she didn’t like, but a few she really did. 

Booker listens, asking her questions about the experience and what she thought of the model. If she had fun, what her favorite part was; the questions that naturally followed upon hearing about someone’s first experience doing something. 

They pay and leave after an hour, walking back up through the park. Might as well, considering it’s there, and Nile doesn’t have anything to do for another few hours. She promised Nicky she’d accompany him up to Manhattan, so long as he would take her to Saint Patrick’s Cathedral so she could sit down in a church for the first time in ages and pray. At this point, she genuinely really wanted to do it, and she felt the least uncomfortable asking Nicky. He had agreed, not questioning her either. But, that wasn’t until later, and even though she’d shower when she got back, it could wait. Even for being warm, it’s still a nice day, and walking through the park with Booker is _fun_. There’s people to watch, places to stop and observe more people doing things, dogs to try and pet, and nature to see. 

They stop in front of a small stage to watch a woman dancing. She has a partner, and the music is nice to listen to, but it’s absolutely fascinating for Nile. She loves watching people dance in different styles, and it’s fascinating to see how their feet move. The dancers finish and step back to get water, and though Nile’s ready to turn and leave, the woman on stage asks if anyone would like to volunteer and dance with her. There’s a soft chuckle throughout the crowd. Nile _has_ to stick around and watch this woman school whatever poor soul decides to try it out for themselves–

Booker steps forward with a smirk and a shrug. She’s quick to welcome him over to her, and though there’s some mumbled words between them, Nile can’t hear it. After some hesitation, Nile pulls out her phone to record this, not really having any expectations, but it’s good blackmail material either way.

Nile is shocked to see Booker genuinely smile, blow hair out of his face and flick out his wrists before he completely slips into the dance with the woman. He’s good, surprisingly so, and very fluid in his motions. The music sounds jazzy but modern, like something from Baz Luhrmann’s version of the _Great Gatsby_ (a movie Nile admittedly did really like), and though Nile still doesn’t know what kind of dancing it is that he’s doing, it fits and looks great. Booker, arguably, looks cocky while he’s up there too, the smirk never leaving his face as he guides his partner through the steps that move too fast for Nile to even understand how he’s doing it. 

When he steps off the platform, the woman grinning broadly and waving at their departure, Nile looks back to Booker, who legitimately smiles again. Nile can hardly process it.

“You all may give me shit for being French,” Booker says, flicking hair from his face again. Nile’s going to cut it for him at this rate. He continues, “but I don’t believe you’ve been to a real party with me.” 

“When we inevitably wind up in France again, I expect a good one,” Nile says. When Booker is actually happy, it is surprisingly infectious, but not something Nile has had the chance to notice. Not from a lack of spending time with him, but simply because he’s always either low or neutral. 

Whether it’s that he enjoys the city or he’s just having a good week, Nile doesn’t know, but she also does not particularly care. Seeing Booker actually enjoying himself is enough to make her want to smile too, even when he’s acting like a middle-aged dad and being a complete dork. That only makes Nile laugh more, and she finds herself actually enjoying walking through the park with his company. 

They go back to the subway soon enough, still making conversation the entire way back to Brooklyn. At one point, someone who transfers at a station a few before they get off joins in the conversation. It’s about books, nothing major, but Nile is _not_ a fan of Jane Austen and Booker is, but the said stranger sitting nearby offers insight as well. She’s surprised at the fact someone is interacting with her on the subway, but she’s not going to complain. They seem nice enough. 

The apartment is cold when they enter, Andy is still gone on her daily wanderings. Nile stands in the entry space for just a few moments longer than usual to embrace how nice it actually feels to be cool once more. That doesn’t stop her from getting herself to the shower before she starts sweating again. 

She has two hours after she showers before Nicky wanders out. It hits Nile all too soon (and all too horribly) when she makes the simple observation that his hair isn’t usually this messy, but nobody was in the apartment for the past…God, what time did she and Booker leave? Andy left twenty minutes before them. No–no, never mind, Nile doesn’t care enough to ask herself that question. At least they were considerate and everyone was gone. Booker is clearly watching him as well, though he’s reading in a chair separate from the entire couch Nile is managing to take up.

“Do you think you will be ready to go in…a half hour?”

Nile nods. “Yeah, I think so.” 

“Alright.” 

Nicky disappears with that, Nile putting her earbuds back in and going back to playing a game on her console. She’s got a Switch, one that she bought for herself pretty early on, and though it’s outdated now, she has quite the collection of games to keep herself entertained. Half an hour passes in nothing flat, and Nicky returns looking like…well, normal Nicky, she supposes. Nile saves her game and sets it down on the table, stretching when she stands and going to pull on her shoes. While she’s tying up the laces, she can see Booker toss over a set of keys.

“She’s in the garage,” he says simply, “you’ll know her when you see her–she might need gas, but if you get a scratch–“

“I swear that I won’t,” Nicky tells him. 

Booker narrows his eyes suspiciously, but Nile’s already standing up and shoving her wallet and keys into a bag. She’s wearing shorts, there’s no way in hell she can fit everything in her pockets, even if she’s adding a very lightweight jacket on top. The pair leaves the apartment, taking some time to find the garage, but when they do it’s a short lived hunt. Sure enough, Booker wouldn’t own anything other than the four-door BMW that may be the same age as Nile. She realizes now that Nicky brought CDs with him, and he puts the box in the backseat before he walks over to Nile’s side to see her waiting. 

“Right. United States,” Nicky mumbles, walking back around. “Not...United Kingdom. _Dannazione_.”

Nile laughs quietly, but briefly. She’s climbing in and looking around the car almost instantly. It reeks of cigarettes, and when she opens the glove box, she can see a package of Marlboros wrapped in a receipt from…1998. Nicky says he needs to stop by a few stores while they’re out, which he has addresses written down for that he leaves in the cupholders. Not that Nile minds, but she’s really wondering why he brought so many grocery bags. Then again, the line of thinking is pretty much halted as soon as Nicky gets onto the road, and Nile’s clutching her seat. _Right. The man likes sports cars._ Her thoughts are loud, and though she usually doesn’t bother, she finds herself putting the seatbelt on.

They undoubtedly make it through Manhattan in record time. Nicky gives the appearance of being completely relaxed ninety percent of the time he’s driving, the other ten percent of the time being filled with a look of vague panic followed by angry muttering. Nile can’t help but laugh almost every time. The strings of Italian “ _f_ _ucking shit–learn how to drive, dickwad!_ ” and “ _good fucking Christ in heaven you are the reason we can’t have nice things_ ” really gets her–hell, she’s glad that when they go to Italy, she’ll at least be able to road rage in the proper language. Though, with Nicky, it’s not necessarily road _rage_ and more so just angry mumbling. By the time they’re parking near the cathedral, Nile is glad to be out of the car nonetheless.

Nile has never been into a cathedral that looks like this, but she asked _him_ to go with her somewhere so that she could pray and feel close to God, even if briefly. He’d said, quietly, that it’d been a long time since he considered his faith–simply due to not having time to think about it–but he agreed nonetheless, even saying he might pray too. 

“Andy...doesn’t believe in God,” Nile muses as they wait at the crosswalk. 

“No, she doesn't.” 

“And you still do?”

Nicky hesitates, but chuckles. “I love Andy to death, but her cynicism does not dictate my faith,” he says simply. “Though, I was at war with myself for a long time over it, and what men were doing under the guise of my God. If I'm being honest, I do not know if I can ever forgive myself, but that's not the point.”

He has briefly mentioned it in the past, some of the things he did during the Crusades. Nile never pushes him to talk more about them, but sometimes she can’t help but be ravingly curious. Her curiosity never gets the best of her when it comes to Nicky, though. It’s a can of worms that she knows could be among the darker pasts between the small group, and it is one she is prepared to open only when _he_ offers the information to her.

“I can’t imagine,” she says softly. “I won’t lie, the church still does some fucked up stuff that’s made me question my own faith, but I...can’t imagine it’s anything similar.” 

“And yet you still believe.” 

“Yeah, I do. I find comfort in God, and I think it helps me justify some of what’s been happening to me over the past couple years,” Nile admits. “Not completely, but...like, it helps me find peace with myself. I think I’ve learned to separate God from the men who run the church.” 

“That is an understandable way to look at it,” he tells her. 

“Thank you, Nicky. For bringing me here.”

He looks down at her, the faint smile almost quizzical in nature. “Of course.” 

They have to go through security to get inside, and Nile’s glad they left everything in the car. She follows Nicky inside, though she stays several pews back and across the row from him when they finally settle down to pray. He kneels, she notices quickly, and his motions look so natural and fluid that she really wonders how she could ever forget he was a practicing Catholic for centuries. Maybe more, maybe less.

She doesn’t even want to think about how it has to feel to be a gay man involved with the church throughout all those centuries.

Her own head tips downwards, though she doesn’t kneel and remains sitting. Allowing her eyes to shut, Nile is suddenly glad that she can be in her own space as she talks to God. Even with Andy telling her that God isn’t real, sometimes Nile thinks that having some sort of faith is the only thing that’s gotten her this far. She’s very quickly come to understand that she will not always have time to consider her faith, but simultaneously, Nile is glad that they have the downtime for her to do this. 

How long she’s there for, in her head, praying, she doesn’t know. When she opens her eyes and looks around, Nicky is waiting for her near the front of the space they’re allowed to walk through. She goes up to him, her pace meandering and slow, but she stands next to him after the dozen paces it takes. 

“Do you wish to light a candle?” he asks, his voice oddly thick though he keeps it a very low volume. 

“Yeah, I would,” she answers, not even aware how her own voice mimics his until they’re walking to the sides. 

She lights one when she finds the small section dedicated to Saint Michael, shutting her eyes once she’s blown out the match and giving another silent prayer. They leave after that, the air heavy around them, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing. Nile doesn’t feel uncomfortable, but she’s definitely aware of the fact they both need the quiet until they get back downtown.

Nicky puts in a CD that he brought with them (though, there’s a box in the backseat–half of them are French, but some of the English titles, she recognizes), and Nile can relax back into her seat while they spur back into motion. As it starts, Nile is a little surprised to recognize it, but when she thinks about it for a second, she really isn’t surprised that Nicky likes Mumford and Sons. It’s relaxing, poetic, and oddly comforting for Nile to listen to. She shuts her eyes, smiling softly to herself as they zip down Fifth Avenue to the folk-rock. 

She turns up _The Cave_ a bit, a recognizable song from when she was considerably younger and can’t help but sing along. Her voice is quiet at first, but once she realizes Nicky’s singing too, she gets a bit louder. He turns it up more, smiling faintly over to her. When she actually tries to listen to his voice, she’s surprised to realize that he actually has some fucking _pipes_ . Out of all of them, Nile’s pretty sure Nicky is the only one she hasn’t heard a lick of music from, but she really wishes that were different now. _God damn._

They pull into the first parking spot they can see when Nicky spots a supermarket that looks well-suiting enough, and Nile steps out of the car as soon as the engine’s off. A blast of cold air goes straight through her bones, which while it feels good, she’s also surprised. 

“There’s a storm coming,” Nicky says, appearing out of nowhere at her side. “Did you lock your door?”

She tries the handle. “Yeah, I did. You think it’s gonna rain?” Nile falls into pace with him as they begin walking, making sure he has the grocery bags as they go.

“I won’t be surprised, we might get a short storm but it should pass by the time we get to work.” 

“I hope so,” Nile says, refraining from adding on a _God damn_ for the first time in awhile. “Do we have an official day, now?”

“Two days, I believe. Unless it changed at some point, but I’m not sure it would.” 

Nile quickly realizes they’re not going into the supermarket. No, they’re going directly next door into a little antique store, and though it definitely should be closed at this hour, the owner looks up to Nicky and sighs.

“For Copley,” Nicky says, setting two of the bags on the counter. 

The owner (at least, who Nile assumes is the owner) takes the bags into the back, returning after two minutes at most. He simply hands the bags over to Nicky, nodding once to Nile. Nicky says nothing other than a quick thanks, leaving with that, and leaving Nile to chase after him. 

“What the hell was that?” she asks, trying to get a peak in the bags but she can see nothing other than boxes. The car is close, and Nicky’s handing the bags to her when they get to it. “Good _Lord_ they’re heavy–“

“It’s ammo and some guns, seeing as I am sure you are aware we did not bring any with us–I believe Copley put a surprise in for you too.” He takes them gently from her, setting them each carefully in the trunk. He slams it shut almost as quickly as he opened it. “Do you have any dinner preferences?” 

Nile hesitates, then shrugs. “I could go for some red meat, I suppose,” she says simply. “Is that doable?”

“Of course.” Nicky smiles, pulling the other set of bags from the backseat now. 

_Well, isn’t that convenient?_

Nicky makes sure they get something simple enough, and Nile is pleasantly surprised at the invitation to help him cook for the evening. He plays more music, though his playlists hold a much larger variety than she expected, but Nile is convinced that the most fun she has had in a long time was spent singing and dancing to _Holding Out for a Hero_ in the kitchen with Nicky. 

Nile discovers very quickly that her earlier assessment about Nicky’s voice is even more true than originally anticipated, and also that he really likes the 80s. 

  
  



	5. 14th St-Union Sq

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang goes to a bookstore, and Nicky is not happy about the job they have to do tomorrow.

It’s raining the next morning when Nicky wakes up, still nestled in Joe’s arms. The sound of soft breathing from behind him is relaxing; he can shut his eyes again and feel comfortable lingering in bed for longer than he should. It had been a late night, he was allowed to sleep in. 

Though, is it sleeping in if he’s awake but has his eyes closed? 

Probably not.

The sound of rain on the glass is a quiet pattering, gentle thunder rolling further away but still filling the sky nonetheless. The room is cool, almost cold. Shivering, Nicky nestles back further into Joe, carefully tugging the blankets up further while still trying to avoid waking up his partner. Though Joe shifts, his nose burying into the nape of Nicky’s neck, he doesn’t seem to wake up. Watching the rain from his spot on the bed, briefly, Nicky finds himself slowly shutting his eyes and falling back asleep. So much for waking up.

The second time he wakes up that morning is when Joe is shifting, clearly awake now. Nicky hums softly to see if he gets a response, to which he gets a tired hum in return, followed by a squeeze and a sigh.

“Good morning, _amore_ ,” Joe says softly. 

Nicky smiles faintly. “Good morning,” he echoes. “Did you sleep alright?”

“I always sleep well when I can share a bed with you,” he answers simply, his words stumbling out like he’s not even thinking about them before he speaks. 

“I didn't even need to ask.” Nicky smiles again, gently pulling out of Joe’s arms so he can turn over and face him. Their foreheads press together, Nicky shutting his eyes one more time. “It’s a good day to linger inside.” 

“It is unfortunate, then, that Booker and Andy are determined for us all to go out.” As soon as Joe mumbles the words, he slowly moves down to gently kiss along Nicky’s collarbone and up his neck. Part of Nicky thinks it’s a shame he can’t be bruised, but the other part of him acknowledges that the amount of visible hickeys the pair would have would _not_ be good. 

“Fuck. Where?”

Joe’s head finally rests in the crook of Nicky’s neck. “Books. That’s all I remember. I did my best to keep them out of museums.” 

Nicky scoffs. “Booker in a museum is the last thing I can deal with today.” 

“Exactly.” 

Joe’s weight on Nicky is grounding, keeping him centered in the reality he currently resides in. Maybe coffee would help him wake up, but Nicky sometimes needs a break from being the watchful eye at all times. Andy can be that way too, sure, but she’s never quite the same. Nicky feels his arms tighten around Joe briefly when he’s briefly reminded of the last time being distracted cost them–Merrick’s was a shitshow, one that he is doing his best to avoid replicating in the future. Yet, he can’t lie and say that it doesn’t haunt him sometimes at night; being a lab rat and watching them do the same awful things to Joe. 

_Fucking Booker._

Had it not been for what he claims was an experience with Quynh, he wouldn’t be with them. None of them completely believed him, except maybe Nile (who had said that it must’ve been the reason for him to stop calling), but Andy had made the call that Nicky drastically disagreed with. _If it’s true, he needs to stay with us, I can’t trust him out where we can’t see him, God knows what will happen to_ us _if Quynh really is back, and everything he’s saying is true. And...If we find out he’s lying at any point, we can continue where we left off._

It was precautionary. For the health of the team. Nicky understands that. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t seething for the next week in silence.

Even now, several years later, Nicky is still wary of Booker. Nothing has come up to prove that Booker was lying, but nothing has shown he was telling the truth either. While he’s slowly come back around to Booker as a member of the team, and a valuable one at that, alongside his brother to whatever end, it doesn’t mean that Nicky isn’t still _livid_ over what happened. Even if it’s begun to boil down to hating the situation and just having his anger stewing on the back burner towards Booker, even if the heat is slowly beginning to cool. 

“What’s on your mind, Nicolò?” Joe asks, a quiet mumble into his skin. “Everything is alright here, we are safe.” 

_Oh. Fuck_.

He loosens his grip on Joe, not realizing that he'd tightened his arms around him more, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, just…thinking.”

“It’s alright, _tesoro mio_.” 

Nicky feels his shoulders relaxing next. Good Lord, had he been that tense? He kisses Joe’s forehead, exhaling slowly. _It’s alright. He’s right, everything is alright. That’s over, we_ are _safe, it won’t happen again._ His thoughts repeat slowly but surely, convincing himself of something he logically knows yet still can’t completely believe. 

“ _Ti amo,_ ” Nicky says, his voice soft. 

Joe begins to speak when the door opens, Andy poking her head inside. “It’s eleven thirty,” she says, her eyebrows scrunched together. “We’ve got places to be, things to do.”

“ _Cinque minuti_ ,” Nicky tells her, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. 

“Make it fast, we’re not leaving without you.” 

Andy shuts the door behind herself and Nicky gives Joe a squeeze. In return, he can hear a quiet, unintelligible mumble and feel a hot sigh. Joe pushes himself up off of Nicky, slipping out of the bed and glancing to the window. Nothing can quite compare to morning-after Joe, when he’s still somewhat out of it and not worried about appearances. When his skin gleams in morning light, no matter the state of the weather outside, and how his eyes never fail to still meet Nicky’s and sparkle. The way his body moves as he hunts for different clothes than what he wore the previous night, hoping that he’ll find something. When he gets into his pants, still putting on a belt and always, without fail, comes over to Nicky still in bed and continues the deepest of kisses from the night prior. The kiss that says _I am yours and you are mine_ and _I love you_ in a million different ways, and the way Nicky can feel Joe’s fingers tangling in his hair while they kiss.

The morning after is usually the same, and Nicky wouldn’t have it any other way.

Today, though, he has to get out of bed and prepare for the day. It is not Nicky’s ideal way to spend what little he has left of his morning, but he is not opposed in the least to making out with Joe before he can even pull a shirt on. 

They definitely are not out of the room for ten minutes at least, and when they do enter the living room, Nile and Andy are waiting by the door. Booker has inhabited the couch, flicking through a mass market paperback of what Nicky _thinks_ is one of the Bourne novels, but he can’t be sure. It gets a bookmark before it’s set on the table, and Nicky is the one to grab the umbrellas while they wait for the elevator. 

It is raining harder than anticipated. Nicky does not mind the dampness, though, and shares his umbrella with Joe on their walk. Andy is leading the way, Nile close behind her with Booker on Andy’s other side. It is nice, even with the rain, to just be wandering the streets together. Nicky has found that he loves the smell of rain in the city, and right now is no different, especially not while he is with the people he loves most. And Booker. 

Nicky manages to keep himself dry, even when they are getting down into the subway. He supposes it’s not raining too hard at the moment, and the worst part is avoiding the leaks in the underground, but once they climb on the train, they do not need to worry about it. While on the excruciatingly long ride up (or, what feels like it), Nicky is leaning on Joe, reading over his shoulder. The inside of his jacket has a pocket that happens to be perfectly mass-market paperback size, and Nicky has nothing better to do than watch the other people on the train or observe Nile playing a game on her phone.

There’s a few times that Joe goes to turn the page and Nicky has to pause him, but it happens to be pretty rare. They read through two chapters before they are getting off, slipping back up and out into the damp streets. Left with a light pitter-patter from the rain, they almost don’t need the umbrellas as they make the longer trek to the bookstore that dragged them out of bed that morning.

Upon first stepping inside, Nicky finds that it _may_ have been worth it.

Shelves are easily ten feet tall, sprawling far back into the store. In the front, there are just tables with _piles_ of books, and to the right, a little ways back, there looks to be a section of just leather-bound classics. But, Andy turns to Nicky and Joe before they can take more than a few steps inside, and asks simply if they want to go up with her to the rare book room. Joe, of course, is instantly interested, and Nicky can’t help but feel similarly. 

They peruse the section Andy gets them up to hopelessly, too many interesting things vying for their attention. At least, Nicky is glad to be spending some time with Andy, and she hardly leaves his side the entire time they’re up on the third floor. He finds a copy of the Divine Comedy that he has to buy (in Italian, too!), and makes the purchase before he has the chance to dig through more, while Joe flicks through the poetry selection. Andy is trying her best to find the rarest book they have, which seems to be rather difficult, but Nicky helps her in the search since she is too stubborn to ask the employee and Nicky is determined not to get anything else from up here. 

They settle on a first edition copy of _The Great Gatsby_ that’s been beaten to hell and is missing a dust jacket. Of course, it is still expensive as hell, but Andy pays up without blinking twice, and Nicky can’t help but whistle at the sight. 

She has hoarded funds from their jobs for years, and while that is not to say that Nicky and Joe have not been doing similarly, Andy is infinitely better at living as cheap as possible. What can Nicky say? He likes nice hotels and fancy dinners from time to time. 

Joe purchases a Gertrude Stein book, Tender Buttons, and the three books go in the same bag (which Nicky carries) while the trio retreats back down to the main floor where Booker and Nile are wandering. As they come down the stairs, Nicky can spot them from across the store, Booker holding up a novel and gesturing to it, clearly giving some sort of explanation while Nile rolls her eyes and visibly dismisses his statement.

It gets a wry little smile out of Nicky. The trio goes down to stand with them, though they only discover that Booker and Nile are debating over a Young Adult series that Nicky has never heard of. Based on the things Nile is saying, Nicky doesn’t _want_ to know either. He instead begins to wander, at first on his own, but Andy joins him shortly. Joe is presumably making sure Nile doesn’t kill Booker in the middle of the store. 

“Are you feeling okay, Nicky?” Andy asks, keeping pace with him as he looks through the classics section. “You’ve been somewhat off this week.” 

“I don't mean to be,” he tells her simply. “As far as I _know_ everything is alright.” 

“What are you _really_ thinking?”

Nicky exhales slowly, shaking his head. “We have been on the road almost nonstop since we picked up Nile,” he says, “I just…it’s stupid to want some time off, to reset, but I need it.” 

“Have you talked to Joe about it?”

“Very briefly.” Nicky shakes his head again. “It’s not a matter of _can,_ it’s a matter of _should.”_

“Why shouldn’t you, then?” Andy is obviously feigning the interest in the book she picked up. Nicky can tell she’s watching his every move now.

“Neither of us wants to leave you, Andy.” 

She does not seem particularly shocked by his words, though she still huffs. “You shouldn’t worry about me. I have _always_ been fine, that's not going to change now. Besides, I have Nile and Booker. You guys can take some time to yourselves.” 

“Nile alone could easily make up for what Joe and I leave, but Booker?”

“Your vote of confidence is overwhelming.” 

Nicky chuckles. “We only have so much time left with you, Andy.” 

“As if you two could stay away from me for more than two months in normal circumstances,” she teases, grinning up at him. “I won’t be dead if you’re gone for a little while, Nicky. I promise.” 

He raises an eyebrow, but ultimately sighs and wraps her in a hug. It’s not tight, but it’s still a pleasant, gentle thing that he pulls away from after a few moments have passed. Nicky is not a fan of having to consider saying goodbye, so much so that he's tried (and very nearly succeeded) to banish the thoughts completely from his head, but what may be even more terrifying is that it would make _Joe_ the oldest once Andy’s gone. 

“Who knows what will happen. Maybe there’s hope for me yet, maybe it will come back,” Andy says simply.

“You and I both know that’s unlikely.” 

“But not impossible. We barely know anything about ourselves anyways.” Her eyebrows furrow together, and she shakes her head. “Are you going to cut your hair soon? Or are you going to start growing _real_ facial hair next?”

“What, are you not a fan of the stubble?” Nicky feigns offense, stepping away from her. “I may shave tonight, I think. Maybe.”

“If you’re not having sex.” 

“I’m _courteous_ enough not to do it when everyone is home–“

“That’s a fucking lie and you know it. I had to turn the radio on a couple nights ago so I couldn’t hear _you_ –not even Joe, he has the courtesy to be quiet, _you_.” She’s clearly trying not to laugh when she says it, though she still has the grin plastered across her face.

Nicky laughs a little, though he feels his cheeks getting warm. “It was the _one_ time this week, that’s not bad.” 

“Nicky, it’s sweet that you’re trying to avoid saying it, but I know about your pre-job rituals, and I’m being nice and not talking about last night.” 

Okay, maybe his cheeks are _hot_ , not warm. “Listen, I–“

“Oh, there you guys are!” Nile interrupts, wandering around the corner with a pair of books in her hands. “What’re you guys talking about?”

Nicky clears his throat, trying to get the blush to die down. As far as he’s aware, it really isn’t working. 

“Andromache, what have you done to my poor Nicolò?” Joe croons, wandering over to hold Nicky’s face in his hands. “Look at him, he’s turned _pink_.” 

“She’s been saying some truly awful things.” Nicky does his best to pout. 

Andy scoffs, the smirk wrapped across her face almost getting Nicky to break and start laughing. “I only said that _I know_ about the ritual,” she states bluntly. 

“ _Oh_.” Joe looks a little flushed too when Nicky glances up at him. 

“Do I…want to ask?” 

“No, no you don’t,” Booker assures Nile, sighing audibly. “Are we done here?”

They are, in fact, done with the bookstore. Andy takes them to a cafe for lunch that’s just down the street, and at least the rain has lightened up a little bit. Nicky winds up accidentally getting something far too small and stealing half of Joe’s plate (who doesn’t stop Nicky at all, though it isn’t a shock). They go to a nearby bar afterwards, none of them wanting to get back downtown just yet. Nicky snacks on bar food, taking his drinks rather slow, and he can’t help but snicker when a stranger slides in next to Andy and asks her if she wants a drink. He’s taken Nile’s spot, as she’s just vanished to go to the restroom. 

She does not laugh at him, but merely says she already has one and isn’t interested. Nicky has to hide his face for a brief moment before he can try to pull the serious expression needed to look over Andy’s shoulder when the guy asks, more bluntly, if maybe she’d rather have a drink another time.

“I don’t know,” Andy says. “Ask one of my boyfriends, see if they’re okay with it.” 

Nicky makes eye contact first, and he merely raises a subtle eyebrow and takes another sip of his cocktail. Granted, none of them look particularly intimidating, and while _intimidating_ would usually go to Nicky first, the fruity, pink cocktail he’s only halfway through really puts a damper on that. Not that it stops him from giving the cold glare he’s mastered over the years–someone _has_ to offset the stereotypical _Sebastien le Livre_ smirk that he just knows Booker is giving. 

“Well…are you?” the guy asks, and Nicky finds himself gripping Joe’s thigh under the bar to keep himself from laughing.

Nicky clears his throat. “Depends on your schedule,” he says, ensuring his accent is thicker than usual. “Because we are not in town for very long.” 

Joe’s hand rests on Nicky’s, a similar squeeze that really is not helping him keep a straight face.

“ _You’re sexy when you’re trying to be intimidating,_ ” Joe muses, slipping into Italian.

Booker audibly chokes on his drink, while Andy visibly snorts and puts her head down. From the other side of the man, Nile clears her throat, and every set of eyes shifts to train themselves on Nile.

“You’re in my spot,” she says simply. “Excuse me.” 

He gets up and leaves them be with that, and Nicky is pretty sure he’s begun laughing before the man has gotten back to his table. They linger at the bar for another two hours before they bite the bullet and head home in the rain, the cuffs of Nicky’s jeans and his converse getting soaked on the way to the subway. It’s an unpleasant feeling, anything at his shins and below still dripping for the majority of the ride back. When they’re climbing back out, the rain may have gotten _worse,_ and Nicky is definitely soaked from the knees down this time. How, he barely knows, but it may have to do with standing too close to the street when there was a puddle larger than anticipated. Cue a car driving through. 

He hands out the books he’s been carrying once they get back into the apartment, though does not linger in the living room. Instead, he’s going back into the bedroom, changing out of wet jeans and sifting through his box of gear for the job tomorrow. Hopefully the rain has stopped by then. Nicky pulls out, gingerly, the pieces of a sniper, setting them next to each other and pulling out the magazines next.

_Fifty cal? Madre de dio._

He analyzes the bullets before he begins to load the magazines, shaking his head when he does. It hadn’t hit him before, what the sniper would mean, but now that he is sitting there with the dismantled gun in front of him, he finds himself wishing for anything else. A sense of dread fills him at the mere notion of having to split apart from the group, because he knows damn well they won’t be lingering together when he’s chambering his shots. Not here, not in the city. 

He sets the magazine down, shutting his eyes briefly. A long, slow exhale passes from Nicky while he makes brief attempts to rationalize it to himself, but to no avail. He loads three magazines, ten bullets each, before he sets everything back in the box and pushes it into the closet. 

If Nicky knows anything, it’s that he should not be this disturbed over the simple thought of splitting up. Where the concern had come from, he can’t say, but he pushes himself to his feet, padding back out to the living room in his socks. He sits on the floor in front of Joe, the couch being full and Nicky does not have the words that explain the _need_ for Yusuf to be holding him right now.

Joe doesn’t even question it, he merely leans down and wraps his arms gingerly around Nicky’s chest. Nicky reaches up to touch his arm, keeping it held over his chest. They linger like that for a short while until Joe simply joins him on the floor, still holding him close. Nile determined what they were watching, undoubtedly also the reason Booker tells Nicky they are ordering pizza for dinner (which, he won’t complain, seeing as he isn’t sure if cooking is the best idea now). It is a TV show, one that Nile says she really likes, _It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia._

Nicky doesn’t mind it, though they are starting somewhere in the middle and he is not exactly sure of who anyone is. Supposedly, it does not matter, and at least it can take his mind off of tomorrow. Dinner is spent watching Jeopardy, seeing who can say the right answer the fastest. Andy is terrifyingly good at it, even though half of her answers are unintelligible through bites of pizza, but Joe is a pretty close second. Booker tries, bless his soul, and every now and then Nile will pop in and give an answer. 

Nicky and Joe retreat early for the evening, once they finish pizza. They don’t immediately make moves to go to bed, and instead Joe plugs Nicky’s phone into a speaker and turns on one of his playlists. Nicky hasn’t figured out much on the…whole smartphone front, but he has been able to work the music app at least, and he likes it quite a bit. One of his slower, softer playlists is turned on, and Joe carefully gathers Nicky in his arms to sway along to the music. 

The songs are soft, Nicky’s head on his chest and his free hand on the small of Joe’s back. Closes his eyes, breathing in Joe’s familiar scent, Nicky finds himself relishing the calmness of the moment. He’s still worried about the goddamn sniper he has for tomorrow, and it is a thought he hates, but for the life of him he can’t push it from his mind. All Nicky wants is to stay together, and he’s been working under that assumption for the past three days. Naively, maybe, but he has been hoping.

Joe presses a kiss to his forehead. Nicky’s thumb continues to rub Joe’s back, a simple back and forth motion that may be more soothing for Nicky than him.

“You seem anxious,” Joe notes, his voice soft and the furthest thing from accusatory. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I'm not sure what there is to talk about. It's...rather irrational,” Nicky admits.

The vibrations of Joe speaking only manage to make Nicky more relaxed. He may melt into the floor at this rate. “Nothing is completely irrational,” Joe tells him. “You are perhaps the most intelligent man I know, and if you are worried about something, I get the feeling I should be as well.” 

Nicky sighs. “Andy requested a sniper for me. I have it–it’s in the closet. I just…I fear that we will not be fighting together,” he explains. “And I don't particularly want to separate.” 

“Have you spoken to her about it?”

“Not yet.” 

“I’m sure she will understand,” Joe tells him. “If you don’t want to be separate, she will more than likely respect it.” 

“And if she doesn’t?”

Joe shakes his head. “I do not know.”

“If she wants me ready on the roof, I will go. If it is for the best, I won't argue,” Nicky says simply, his fingers curling around Joe’s tighter. “I may not like it, but...” 

“I wouldn't hesitate to back you up–“

“No, you don’t have to,” Nicky cuts him off, sighing. “If it is for the best of the team, I would not argue.” 

Joe sighs too, pressing his lips to the top of Nicky’s head, though he doesn’t pull away. They linger, like that, the swaying gradually slowing, though it never completely comes to a halt. Nicky is happy to stay there like that, some soft melodies keeping them moving and keeping the room from being silent. Silence would not have been a bad thing, though, not between the two of them.

Nicky’s hand leaves Joe’s briefly, his fingers curling around his neck and pulling him down just slightly for a kiss. He’s gentle in his initiation, his fingers tangling in Joe’s thick curls. He only breaks the kiss off to look down, finding himself yawning and resting his forehead on Joe’s collarbone. Mumbling a quiet _mi dispiace,_ Nicky still makes no moves to pull otherwise away from Joe. It’s been a long day, he is not terribly surprised by the fact he’s tired.

“You grow tired of me, you can admit it,” Joe teases with a little laugh. 

“I can never get enough of you,” Nicky says quietly. “Don’t even joke. Yusuf, I would spend a thousand lifetimes searching for you if we were to be apart. I would climb to the moon and fly into the sun if it meant making you happy, and I am so very glad that you killed me all those centuries ago–I would rather die to you time and time again than face all the ages of this world and the next alone.” 

“And you say _I’m_ incurable, that was completely unprovoked.” 

Nicky finds himself chuckling softly. “ _Mi dispiace._ I will never be as good a poet as you, anyways.”

“No, you are far better, but you keep it all in your head.” Joe’s hands have shifted to wrap completely around Nicky now. “You know how much I love you, or do I need to remind you?”

“Perhaps you do.” 

“You should damn well know how beloved you are, by not just me, but I suppose I can leave that be for now.” He chuckles softly, his fingers playing with the ends of Nicky’s hair. “There are less stars in the sky than the amount of times I have said and thought that I loved you. I have never met someone so deeply caring and compassionate, even if you hide it because you fear the vulnerability–you are my freedom, my sole home. Not even death can keep me from you, Nicolò. I will always come back, on my hands and knees if needed. I will always find you.” 

Joe’s arms tighten briefly around Nicky, smushing him further into Joe’s chest. Nicky only relaxes more, his fingers twisting in Joe’s shirt as he clings to him. 

“I will always find you,” he repeats, softer this time. “Always.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, that was fun! i love being able to explore new york city in my writing, though that might just be homesickness talking. stay tuned for next week when i start posting part two: death, deliverance, and diatribes!


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